


In Dreams

by nonnymouse



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Bestiality, Cloaca, Dream Sex, F/M, Fisting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2017-04-29
Packaged: 2018-10-22 02:17:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10687731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nonnymouse/pseuds/nonnymouse
Summary: Kaiba has a special relationship with his Blue Eyes White Dragons.





	In Dreams

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kazesuke](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kazesuke/gifts).



> blue_eyesgirl_fic, this prompt caught my eye amid the pinch hits. But I had an assignment to focus on, and besides, I hadn't seen Yu-Gi-Oh! in ages and never saw the end of the series. When I finished my assignment and the pinch hit was still there, I decided to take it on. 
> 
> I watched a few of the main Kaiba episodes, and hope I've reached an approximation of his voice. I debated between making the dragons female or male, but decided to go with female due to Kisara's gender.
> 
> I hope you like the result.

It would be a cold day in hell before Kaiba talked about his dreams with anyone, even the therapist he paid too much for because Mokuba had requested it.

For one thing, he'd have to admit to how vivid they were, all brilliant colors and intoxicating sounds and surfaces of every texture. It wasn't the image he wanted to project. Every month there was a new thinkpiece about how KaibaCorp's young CEO managed to make a gaming company one of the top companies in the world, never falling below the top 50 of the Fortune 500. Somehow none of them ever considered that he had an imagination.

He took a card game and brought it to life, with arenas that spanned cities and evolving technology to make the game ever more immersive. He took a few inches of 2D paint and turned them into monsters so realistic even experienced duelists flung their arms up to protect their face when attacked. It was an art, but it wouldn't do to have people thinking of Kaiba as an artist.

No one cowered in fear because they were sitting in the boardroom across from an artist.

But they did cower in the face of the coolly practical Kaiba.

The second reason was that he'd have to admit how often he dreamt of his monsters. Everyone knew he was fond of his Blue Eyes White Dragons, and some had heard him call them his friends. But they weren't the only creatures in his dreams. They were all there, sometimes winding around the edges, sometimes front and center.

Sometimes he didn't know whether it was his deficient conscience or his monsters that kept nightmares from invading his sleep.

Finally, there was no one he'd even want to talk about his dreams with aside from Mokuba. Now, he might grudgingly admit to his acquaintance with some of his old dueling peers, but that didn't mean he shuddered at the thought of intimate discussion with them. Worst of all, he knew they'd leap on the chance to reciprocate. That would be a living nightmare.

As for Mokuba, some of the dreams weren't appropriate for him.

Those dreams didn't happen often. Only when he needed them, and Kaiba had done his best to purge himself of needs.

In those dreams, the only monsters present would be his Blue Eyes White Dragons, proud and majestic and fighting with each other until only one was left standing. Rarely did the same dragon win twice in a row.

The winner would approach him, and then Kaiba would fight.

He would have no chance against a dragon, of course. His height might be tall for a human, but it was nothing to a Blue Eyes. He knew several forms of martial arts, but what good where they against a creature of tooth and claw?

Still he fought, for he would not be a worthy mate if he didn't. He'd studied the mating habits of various reptiles in his waking hours, because he liked to be thorough. He knew that if he were a dragon too, he'd be expected to fight a female until he pinned her down, and he'd have to keep fighting to hold her down throughout their mating. No matter how the battle went, he knew his dragons were always being gentler with him than their biology told them to be.

No one but his dragons could ever see him as vulnerable, breakable.

Tonight he began his part of the dance with a throw, arms grasped around the base of the dragons long neck, ignoring the pinch of her scales, then shifting his body weight down quickly to toss her over his shoulder. He couldn't have done it if she hadn't been charging him, giving him the momentum he needed to throw a creature so much heavier than himself.

She struck out with her long neck, batting him aside with the smooth crest of her head. He fell hard, and she pinned him in place with her the claws at the end of each foreleg, pressing hard enough to leave red lines on his skin but not hard enough to puncture it.

Not until he struggled. When they were both satisfied that he'd wriggled enough to complete the dance, she turned around, lifting her tail to reveal the cloaca hidden shortly beneath its base.

The softer scales of her underbelly gave way to a ridged rim around her cloaca, flared open in a nearly perfect circle due to her arousal.

He rolled onto his belly and approached by slithering, using the strong muscles of his core to inch his way to her. He didn't know why, but it felt right to approach her as reptile-like as he could. In these dreams, he always followed those strange instincts. He somehow always knew what the winner wanted as her reward.

Once he was almost right beneath that lifted tail, he placed his hands square beneath his shoulders and pushed himself up, arching his back, so that he could reach that opening. Flicking his tongue out, he tasted it. That first taste always centered him, made him feel more sure of what his dragon wanted. The edges were bumpy, where the scales melted away to inner flesh. He lavished attention around the edge of the cloaca until he'd explored every ridge, mapping them with long licks of his flattened tongue.

The scaly skin was warmer than expected, every time. The blue-toned white seemed like it should be cool, but the reality was a body warmed by sun. There was a faint taste of brine, as if she'd recently dived in the ocean. There were only ever tastes of the environment, and Kaiba appreciated that Duel Monsters did not have the biological needs of the reptiles of his world.

It was only once he thoroughly explored the outer rim that he licked the inside the cloaca, licking as deep as he could but never coming close to reaching the visible depths of the fully aroused opening. Inside, the flesh was darker and redder, but yielding in the way the rest of her armored body wasn't.

It was a fair trade, showing their soft spots to each other, and Kaiba certainly wouldn't admit to those with anyone else.

He could tell his efforts weren't enough, so he gathered the fingers of his right hand together so it formed into a narrow, pointed fist. He pushed his fist in, and he didn't know it was the physics of the dream, but even without lube the skin of his hand slide along the scaled opening with no more than a pleasant friction. It felt most reminiscent of sliding his hand into his favorite wallet.

He thrust his arm smoothly but swiftly, feeling resistance at the thickest part of his forearm and using that to judge the depth of his thrusts. He knew he'd judged correctly when he heard his dragon lowing, a sound that was almost plaintive in the simplicity of its need. He responded to that evidence of her desire, uttering a few groans himself in his effort to thrust with enough force to satisfy his dragon. She had no need for him to coddle her, and asked for nothing but everything he could give.

For his dragons, he sometimes felt he could give his soul.

It was a sound that made him sure when she was done partaking in her victory, a roar of triumph he'd also heard her make when rearing over a fallen foe. But here, with them alone in dreams, there was a slight purr to it, an intimacy she'd never show to an enemy.

The echoes of that roar would follow him into his next dreams, pleasant but inconsequential things. When he woke, the sheets would be sticky with the evidence of his own completion.

He washed those sheets himself, because he was never going to discuss his dreams with the maids either.


End file.
